


Flock of Phoenixes

by Sassaphrass



Series: Burn your kingdom Down [6]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hunger Games Setting, Backstory, Failed Relationships, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Implied/Referenced Underage Prostitution, Love, Past Relationship(s), Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-29
Updated: 2015-08-29
Packaged: 2018-04-17 19:25:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4678493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sassaphrass/pseuds/Sassaphrass
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dick Grayson's always looked on the bright side. Sometimes that's hard though when you're a Victor trying to balances life as a pawn of the Capitol and a masked Vigilante. Love can make things better and it can make things worse.</p>
<p>Alternate title: The Redheads Richard Grayson has Loved: a companion fic to the 'Burn Your Kingdom Down verse'</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Circus

**Author's Note:**

  * For [happyharper](https://archiveofourown.org/users/happyharper/gifts).



> This is a companion to the other stories in this verse, 
> 
> I don't think you'll understand anything that's happening unless you've read those. Sorry. This fic in mostly backstory but there are parts of it that fit into the main timeline of this verse. 
> 
> Written for happyharper who asked for some insight into the mind of Dick Grayson and left me some very nice comments on the main stories.

There were many excellent reasons that Bruce had told his son not to try and visit his old home. After all it was all the way across the District, far from their mansion in the Victor's Village. To get there Dick would have to first make his way through the manufacturing district, than the slums before finally reaching the scrubland between where the edge of the slums and the fence that marked the northern edge of the District.

 

Dick had grown up in that strange wild place. The people of Haly's Circus lived a life apart from Gotham huddled in flimsy tents, wagons without wheels, and shacks made from the whatever scrap they could lay their hands on.

 

They lived on three things: 1) the food the managed to scratch out of the barren fields- stunted crops and the rabbits that darted in from the outside world and straight into their snares, 2) the takings they made from their performances, and 3) pride. They took no tesserae against a child's name unless the child was already dying, at which point they entered the name as much as they could until the little one died. They were free. That's what the adults always said. It didn't matter that there were fences- they were the only free people in all the districts.

 

Dick's parents had been the best acrobats in the Circus, and Dick had been performing for his supper as long as he could remember.

 

After they fell the rest of the Circus refused to let Dick be swallowed by Crime Alley where the kids without homes scraped by on tesserae and worse.

 

He'd had to take the tesserae to stay alive then, even with the charity of the Circus people. It was that or slowly waste to nothing till he couldn't perform anymore. He'd just had to make it till he was a bit bigger and he'd be able to make a living (albeit a poor one) as an acrobat.

 

 

And then he'd been reaped. And he'd won.

 

Which led to the final, very good reason Bruce did not want Dick to go traipsing to the edge of the Circus to go looking for his old friends: there was no guarantee they'd be happy to see him.

 

 

After all, Dick would never want for anything ever again. He didn't belong to the overgrown fields of the Circus anymore. He belonged to the glittering Gotham elite if he even belonged to his District at all anymore.

 

And the Circus people were a strange insular lot living cold and dirty and hungry out in the fields by the fence. It was dangerous to wander those fields if you weren't on the well beaten path to the big top where the ragged performances awed and dazzled.

Or, at least, that was what Bruce said.

 

Dick was far from convinced.

 

Which was why he was currently, happily, picking his way through the familiar overgrown meadow towards where he'd once lived with his parents- he could just about see the wheeless caravan where they'd lived through the tall dead grass.

 

It was a familiar enough route, though he'd hardly ever left these fields before he'd been reaped.

 

 

He hadn't told Alfred where he was going, but then again, Alfred hadn't asked. Bruce was away in the Capitol, and Alfred only ever really worried about whether he'd need to cook anything.

 

Dick had asked him to make some of his cookies. He had, and Dick now had them carefully tucked into a container in the bag that was currently swinging from his left arm.

 

Along with a brick.

 

Kids from the Circus may be less rough than the slum kids but that didn't mean they were stupid.

 

There was a rustling and it seemed like the entire field went silent.

 

Dick pursed his lips and whistled an old familiar tune. The one that let anyone listening know that it was just a harmless Circus kid coming back to the wild from the city, not a cop or a dangerous slum-side criminal.

 

There's an answering whistle and a head pops out from behind the tall grass.

 

“Dickie-bird!” someone calls. Dick grins and jumps into familiar arms.

 

It's not the same. Of course it's not the same. They worry about him, sure. But he's not one of them. He'll never be one of him again. They ask how he's doing, fuss over his hardships in the games, and coo about how sweet he looks all cleaned up, but they don't suggest he come back to live there or be sure to visit or even stay for supper.

 

It hurts a bit, but Dick smiles through the pain. He's got it better than most kids growing up cold and hungry by the fence could ever even hope to dream.

 

He's happy. They are glad to see him- Bruce was wrong. They fuss and flap around him. They _love_ him. It's nice to be home, even if he can't stay for very long. That's what matters.

 

He visits them again, whenever he feels a bit...disconnected. Like maybe there's nothing real beneath his skin anymore, just something the Capitol made to amuse itself.

 

He goes back to the field and the camp fires and the rusting bars and the big top where they somehow use all that to make magic. And somehow just standing there he knows who he is.

 

This is where he's from. This is where the parts of his that matter make sense.

 

He never tells Bruce that he still goes there though.

 


	2. Babs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robin meets Batgirl, and (eventually) Richard Grayson meets Barbara Gordon.

Dick wants to squeal and giggle and caper about. He wiggles his toes in the bright green pixie boots and can't suppress his smile. He can practically feel Bruce stifle a sigh standing next to him. Whatever, the man choses to dress up as a bat- he had no place to judge Dick.

 

“You could have chosen something less revealing.” Batman rumbles.

 

Dick can't suppress a giggle this time. It just sort of squeaks out. “Full range of motion B.” He explains, demonstrating by bringing a knee up to his ear as he points his toe at the moon.

 

He can feel the weight of Bruce's disapproval. He seems to think because something is important, and serious it can't also be a hell of a good time. It's a character flaw of his that Dick has been working on.  


Fun is _great_. It's wonderful, and it doesn't detract from other things, in fact it make those other things easier to live through and at once seem more horrible to the outside observer.

 

So, Dick Grayson was going to leap from rooftop to rooftop, defying the Capitol and fighting crime while bright green pixie boots, a neon yellow cape, a red tunic over a leotard that had a greeen scale pattern. And no pants. The pantless thing seemed to have B concerned.

 

“I'll wear tights when it gets cold B, okay?” he offers in the spirit of reconciliation. “Besides, this outfit makes me look about three years younger so, it's actually helpful in concealing our identities.”

 

It's hard to tell with the cowl (that has BAT EARS, seriously Bruce, those in glass houses shouldn't throw stones and all that), but Bruce does not look fully convinced by this astounding instance of logic.

 

Dick shuffles awkwardly on the roof but catches sight of his pixie boots again and. Can't. Stop. Smiling.

 

His outfit is seriously the best. Bruce just doesn't get cutting edge fashion.

 

He peaks up at Bruce from behind his hair. Bruce's scowl has softened slightly and Dick knows he's won. The big bad batman is actually a soft touch when it comes to kids, or animals, or the elderly.

 

Excepting when those demographics try to kill him, then he's as ruthlessly efficient as ever.

 

“Fine.” Bruce relents.

 

Dick punches the airs with both fists and does a back-flip to celebrate.

 

“Enough of that- let's go!” Bruce snaps.

 

“Righteo- Batman!” Dick chirps, striking a pose of readiness and action.

 

He can feel Batman resisting the urge to either roll his eyes or ruffle his hair. He knows he looks about 10 years old and absolutely adorable. He thinks it's a look that works on him.

 

He's totally right about the costume. Everyone immediately let's their guard down when they see a kid in pixie boots, a yellow cape and no pants. This works to their advantage because criminals are then taken by surprise when Dick kicks them in the head. Not to mention that victims tend to be less intimidated by children in ridiculous outfits then terrifying hulking men dressed as flying rodents. It's satisfying work, but somebody's got to do it. Dick loves being Robin.

 

 

He's sitting on the edge of a building when he meets her-Barbara Gordon, daughter of the Head Peacekeeper (though he doesn't know that at the time). He doesn't remember where, just that he was swinging his legs over the edge of the drop and trying to wiggle his snack bar out of his pocket. That was the issue with form fitting clothing, non-weapon bearing storage was somewhat difficult to access.

 

“Robin.”

 

He whips around at his name. There's a girl standing a few feet away. She has red hair and is wearing a home-made batman costume. Only there's purple involved and a bright yellow cape like his own.

Dick grins.

 

“Hi! I like your costume!” he calls to her.

 

She bites her lip. “Thanks. Yours is ridiculous.”

 

Dick grins wider. “People keep telling me that, but look!” He jumps to his feet without using his hands so he's standing on the edge. He brings his knee to his ear and points his foot at her. “Range of motion! I keep telling people.”

 

She smiles at him cautiously. “I want to help- You and Batman... I can help!”

 

Dick puts his hands on his hips and looks her up and down. “Of that I have no doubt but big B, doesn't like people putting themselves in harms way if they don't know what their doing. He'd want you to be trained if you're going to work with us, and he might not have time to do it.”

 

“I have training.” she protests.

 

He looks at her seriously, for a minute. He's starting to realize this is a girl who needs to be taken seriously. That's not as much fun but he can do that.

 

“Okay, prove it. Keep up with me as I get to my rendezvous and I'll put in a good word for you with Batman.” He challenges her.

 

She nods, focused and decisive. Dick can't help another grin at her as he let's himself fall sideways off the roof. He hears her gasp and then blocks everything else out in favour of grabbing the the window ledge two stories down.

 

This feeling of falling and flying at once will never get old. He doesn't take the easiest route to the meeting place but he doesn't take the hardest. He doesn't think about whether she can keep up but he throws in just a bit more flair than usual as he jumps and spins across the city, well, what can he say? Showmanship's always been a matter of survival for him, you can't blame him for that.

 

Once you learn the rules of gravity, you can't fly but you sure can fall with style.

 

She manages to keep up with him, just barely. He asks Bruce to take her on and Bruce agrees, because Dick has him wrapped around his little finger and what Robin wants Robin gets.

 

 

 

The first time they see each other without the mask is at a high society Gotham function. He's being fussed over by a socialite Bruce once jilted in love, and it doing his best to be polite. She must recognize his voice because she squeaks and covers her mouth.  


“You're you!”

 

He makes his apologies and tows her away from the crowd. He's never seen her without her mask before. It feels weird to be looking each other in the face, like they've both walked in on the other naked or something.

 

Finally, having found an alcolve suitable for this sort of sensitive conversation, he shrugs in asnwer to her comment. He is who he is. “Of course I'm me, who else would I be?” Okay, so maybe he snaps at her a little.

 

She laughs. It's probably the first time where she's laughing and he's not.

 

He loves her a little bit in that moment, but standing there without masks and looking into each others eyes, things are no longer effortless between them. Dick's finally starting to look his age and the teenage awkwardness is in full force on the inside even if you can't tell at all from the outside.

 

He wants to kiss her but he doesn't think she'd want him to. Not really, not without the mask. She likes laughing, silly, unintimidating Robin. She's not interested in the beautiful Victor Richard Grayson, with his baggage and his bloody hands, whose well on his way to being a sex symbol even if he's still a virgin (though Bruce has warned him that's a state of being that probably won't be allowed to last for much longer).

 

Dick's getting scared of what's going to happen to him, after all half the Capitol's been in love with him for nearly two years already, and now he's turning sixteen and people will be able to justify it to themselves. There is no security in the life of a Victor and any freedoms must be stolen ones.

 

Barbara must catch something unintended in his face because she looks sad suddenly.

 

“It's okay Richard.” she assures him. He hates that name.

 

“My friends- my _real_ friends- they call me Dick.” he hurriedly corrects her.

 

She snorts and shakes her head. “That's just so _you._ Isn't it?”

 

He grins.

 

 

 

 

For a long time he's almost always with her when he's in Gotham, in costume or out of it. But his time in Gotham gets shorter and shorter as he gets older.

 

There's a while where he practically doesn't see her at all- he's in the Capitol too much, and then there's Jason to look after and then Jason to mourn, and Tim to look after and then next thing he hears she's been shot by the Joker.

 

That's when he goes to see her again. He sits next to her hospital bed and he feels angry because if she were in the Capitol or even just had access to the best Capitol medicine that could be shipped to 3 than she would be able to walk out of this room, but she doesn't and she probably won't ever walk again and it isn't fair.

 

They aren't who they once were. He's been chewed up and spat out and it took a (mostly) faked nervous breakdown and a murder spree to get him here.

 

She's been hurt real bad, and worse it was somewhere she thought she was safe. Dick, at least, has never had to live through that. His safe places have all stayed that way.

 

He wonders if she'll like him anymore. It's been years since they were close, and he suddenly feels out of place sitting there. It's not his place, it's not where he belongs.

 

Her eyelids flicker, and she looks at him. It takes a minute but slowly a smile spreads across her face. Her eyes are so bright you almost don't notice they've both been blacked.

 

“Hey there stranger.” she whispers.

 

He laces his hands together on her bed and leans his chin against them. He won't touch her until she says it's okay.

 

“Hey yourself.” he replies, with a small tentative smile.

 

“Long time no see.”

 

“You don't write you don't call, what's a boy to think?” he jokes.

 

Her smile dims. She's thinking of his fancy string of Capitol lovers. He wonders if she knows the truth about them and he can't decide which would be worse: if she knows or if she doesn't. It doesn't matter, if she knows it's too late, and if she doesn't than let her draw her own conclusions, he's not going to say anything.

 

He looks at her sidelong through his lashes. It's brought lesser people to their knees that look.

 

She reaches out and tugs a little at the ends of his long hair.  


“You should get this cut. I don't think it suits you.”

 

He wants to kiss her, or at least crawl up onto that narrow hospital bed and hold her.

 

He smiles a subtle sultry smile and leans back in his chair.

 

“You know, the first time we met face-to-face I wanted to kiss you but I didn't.”

 

She frowns at him. “Why? You don't usually think before you act.”

 

He shrugs and looks away from her. “I wasn't sure you'd like Richard Grayson, Capitol Darling.”

 

She grins, like something is hilarious. He scowls at her in confusion. “What?”

 

She tries (unsuccessfully) to hide a chuckle.

 

He pouts. “C'mon Babs, what?!”

 

She finally stops laughing. “It's just, I really wanted to kiss you when I saw you standing in that little tuxedo, but I didn't think you'd like the daughter of the head peacekeeper.”

 

They stare at each other. In so many ways this is the worst moment there's ever been for then to...try and be that. To put love on the table.

 

They're both more than a little bit battered and bruised by the years. The only difference is that Dick's wounds are invisible and secret. Barbara probably just thinks he's a slut.

 

But, if there's one thing he's learned it's that you can't let things you want go by, tomorrow you may be shipped off to the Capitol, or paralysed in a terrible revenge crime, or dead.

 

Barbara puts her hand on top of the sheets and looks pointedly at Dick.

 

He smiles sheepishly and puts his hand in hers.

 

Barbara laughs softly to herself. “Only you would think a moment like this would be a good time to confess your love.”

 

“I never said anything about love!” he protests.

 

But she gives him a deadpan stare that leaves him blushing red. Okay, fine, there's definitely a little love.

 

“Gotta bring the light into dark times Babsy.” He tries to explain. “Even if sometimes it just makes the dark around it seem darker.”

 

She shakes her head again, but she's smiling this time. “You really are the most remarkable person Dick. Has anyone ever told you that?”

 

He pretends to think about it. “Caesar Flickerman may have said something like that once, now that you mention it...”

 

She laughs again and swats and him. He catches her hand and holds on tight.

 

She's beautiful, even with eyes bruised black, and she's right, he does love her. He wants her to have everything he can give her and that includes himself.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic focuses on various relationships Dick Grayson has outside the Batfamily, charts the rise (and occasionally the fall) of one of these relationships, as such there is some time line over lap. 
> 
> This chapter starts when Dick is 14 (just turned) and ends when he's in his early twenties.


	3. Roy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roy passes out on Dick's floor. On such things, sometimes, friendships can be built.

Roy is lying on the ground on his side with his knees tucked up and a towel under his head (to save the Avoxes having to clean the carpet if he throws up).

 

Dick had rolled him into the recovery position before making the executive decision not to go sleep in his room. He liked sleeping with other people, it reminded him of living in the caravan with his parents. The comforting rythyms of someone else's breathing.

 

Plus, it was better to be close just in case Roy stopped breathing in the night or something.

 

They'd both drunk a lot last night, but Roy had mixed that with a handful of other drugs and while Dick had been sobering up once they got to the Victors Centre Roy had more or less lost his ability to speak in full sentences, or..ya know, words.

 

The breakfast trolley had arrived (Dick refused to let the Avox wait on him personally so he had them prepare his meals and leave them in the hallway), Dick had done his morning stretches and is half-way through his anytime-anyplace s routine to keep up his strength, flexibility and agility when he was away from his gym-mansion back in District 3, (which was getting to be more and more often).

 

Of course there was a gym in the Tribute Centre but Dick didn't like to use it unless he had another (trustworthy) Victor with him. He always felt like people were watching him, and not in a good way. In a way that made him want to put his back to the wall and a knife in his fist.

 

So, Dick is trying to do a handstand push up (it's not going to well he's kind of hungover), when Roy shifts and groans.

 

Dick goes back into a bridge and then flips himself up onto his feet. He does it slow to make it more difficult.

 

Roy is staring at him bleary eyed.

 

“Y'r not human.” he growls.

 

Dick pastes on his Flickerman smile. “Yes, I am! The Capitol had me tested!” he replies with the manic perkiness of the reality tv star.

 

Roy sort of huffs in laughter. Or at least Dick thinks it's laughter, it might be him trying not to throw up.

 

Dick steps closer and starts poking Roy in the side with his toe. “C'mon, Get up. There's hangover-pills in the bathroom and some breakfast-y type stuff if you eat that sort of thing.”

 

Roy roll onto his stomach and puts his arms over his head.

 

Dick fights the temptation to roll him out of the apartment. After all technically Roy doesn't belong here. Dick could call the Avoxes or security and have them eject Roy from the premises.

 

He looks back down at the ginger. Roy looks like death warmed over. Dick doesn't have the heart to kick him out, but it's comforting to know he has the option.

 

He grabs some orange juice and a croissant (plain) and slides them into Roy line of sight, or what would be Roy's line of sight if he didn't have his eyes scrunched closed.

 

Dick tries wafting the smell towards him. “C'mon. You can't stay here forever, as lovely as I'm sure that would be for you.”

 

“Don't flatter yourself.” Roy snarls.

 

“Ha. I never flatter, I only speak the truth.”

 

Dick considers picking up the croissant trying to feed it to Roy but that probably wouldn't go well. Roy seems to have control issues,which is not uncommon in a Victor.

 

Dick sits back on his heels and looks at Roy.

 

Roy has big bulky muscles in his shoulders and arms. Show-off muscles, not actually that useful as far as Dick's concerned. He's pale, not too handsome, with dark red hair and no freckles. He's a semi-Career from 4 and Dick can't help but feel sorry for him.

 

Roy's older than him but won his games after Dick did. Which makes them sort of equals Dick guesses, Dick's had more years in the Capitol, but Roy's had more years in general.

 

Dick's learned by now that the Career Victors are almost always really fucked-up in ways that the rest of the Victor's don't know how to deal with, but Four takes things to a whole other level, Dick can't help but think, since, not having really bought in to the honour and glory thing, they tend to send the unwanted children of the district to the Career Academy. In some ways it's an elegant solution- if children must die send the ones no one will mourn and train them first. .

 

Roy's an orphan. He was more or less raised by the Career Academy, but he wasn't considered a top prospect, he was the second tribute, the extra, the real money had been on his district partner.

 

Poor Roy. He's pretty messed up about the whole thing.

 

Dick nudges the croissant against Roy's head and put on a falsetto voice. “Eat me, Roy!” he cries (as the croissant) “I'm delicious!”

 

Roy looks up and glares at Dick. “You seem awfully eager to get rid of me all of a sudden. Is there an appointment with someone that you just can't miss?”

 

Dick scowls at him and considers kicking him for real this time.

 

“I kept you upright, wiped the vomit off your chin before anyone could take pictures, brought you home, propped you up so you wouldn't aspirate your own vomit and die, and slept over there to make sure the cocktail of drugs and alcohol you took wouldn't make you stop breathing in the night.”

 

He snarls and looks and Roy pointedly. “Not to mention I happen to know you actually have a home to go to- unlike me.”

 

Roy looks away shamefacedly and sits up. Dick scooches over next to him and gently bumps their shoulders together. He hands his friend the juice and the croissant. Roy takes them.

 

“I hate it there.” Roy declares.

 

Dick grimaces. “I know.”

 

Dick doesn't know what strings Oliver Queen pulled to get his own live in Victor but Dick can only assume he's holding blackmail material on every major political power in the Capitol.

 

“He treats me like I'm the latest accessory. A little lapdog to bring with him everywhere and show off.” Roy mumbles.

 

Dick looks at Roy out of the corner of his eye. According to Bruce Queen the Capitolite as he's known is a covert supporter of resistance and rebellion. He wants to change the world. Change the system.

 

Dick doesn't know whether Roy knows about that. He hopes he does.

 

“Well,” Dick replies cheerily. “So, long as he doesn't treat you like a sex toy, I think you're okay.”

 

Roy looks at him sharply, but Dick just keeps grinning. He gets to make off colour jokes about it if he wants. It's better than treating what happens to young pretty like the worst sort of shameful secret. It's not Dick's fault things are the way they are, and he's not going to be ashamed.

 

The pause has gone on too long. “He _doesn't_ treat you like a sex toy does he?” Dick asks, suddenly trying to quell the panic rising in his throat.

 

It's bad enough the way he has to do it, with different clients- some who he actually likes, some who he'd rather avoid, but he can't imagine how terrible it would be if he was forced to live with someone who had bought him for _that_...for what might as well be forever.

 

He grabs Roy's wrist. “Roy?” he asks urgently. “If he is you have to tell me. He's a friend of Bruce's. Bruce said he was okay, but if he's not than, he might be able to do something. Get you out-”

 

Roy sighs and puts an arm around Dick. “He doesn't do anything like that Dick.” He kisses the side of Dick's head. “I swear. He bought me because he likes me and wanted to keep me safe. I just don't like that he sees me as another of his possessions.”

 

Dick hates how shaken he feels. He leans into Roy. “Good. For a minute there I thought-”

 

Roy kisses him again. This time on the mouth. Softly, and gently. His breath smells like vomit and alcohol and his lips taste disgusting but the gesture is appreciated.

 

Dick drapes himself over his friend.

 

Roy holds onto him. Dick doesn't make him leave that day, or that night.

 

 

 

A few days later Dick shows up at the Queen mansion with a strange look about him. He's perfectly put together, his outfit is electric blue with a daring gold detailing, and lime green feathers grace his shoes and carefully done hair. But there's a sharp brittleness to him that Roy recognizes from the mirror when he knows he's been too sober for too long and the world has become much more than he can take. .

 

Roy lets him in (of course) and hovers around offering every time of refreshment including a variety of drugs both clinical and recreational. He wraps Dick in blankets, and matches him shot for shot and doesn't act surprised when Dick climbs into his lap and kisses him like he's dying.

 

“There.” Dick says impishly, pulling away to catch his breath. “That's a stolen kiss, you know. People are supposed to pay for them.” He pecks Roy once on the lips and once on the cheek, grinning the whole while like he's stolen all the sweets in the world. Or like he's done some really good drugs which is probably a better comparison, Dick thinks looking down at Roy's bemused face, considering the company he's keeping.

 

He hops off Roy's lap and fixes himself a mixed drink with grenadine, orange juice, fizzy sugar water and lots of vodka. It's sickeningly sweet. Dick holds a maraschino cherry between his teeth and grins wide at Roy. Roy just shakes his head and smiles back.

 

Roy doesn't ask Dick what happened. Dick's grateful for that. He doesn't want to talk about it. He wants to be happy and right now Roy makes him happy in a way that no one else seems to be able to. To Roy he's just Dick. Not the son he's failing, or the Victor he's lusting after or the poor little Tribute he feels sorry for. He's just Dick Grayson and it's a nice feeling.

 

Roy does do his best to braid Dick's long hair the way he likes it, after Dick exasperatedly tugs the feathers out and messes it up.

 

Dick eventually falls asleep on the couch in Roy's room and Roy manages to run interference for nearly the entire afternoon before he can no longer fend off Bruce.

 

Bruce storms in like a thunder cloud and scoops Dick up off the couch. Dick pretends not wake up, and he just cuddles up to the broad chest of his unofficial adopted guardian. Sometimes with Bruce Wayne resistance is futile.

 

Bruce glares at Roy but doesn't say a word. He doesn't have to- Roy knows. He's not good enough, he's a bad influence. But, Dick is drowning and Bruce won't admit it. At least when he's with Roy he knows he's not drowning alone.

 

In the end it's Roy who drowns. He keeps taking more drugs, and going to scarier clubs and Dick's half afraid to go with him sometimes- he's afraid of drugs. It scares him to lose control. Even alcohol gives him anxiety sometimes.

 

And then there are more and more clients for Dick and none for Roy and the guilt of that is eating Roy alive. Roy after all is an adult, more or less, and besides is a tough, if broken creature that can handle anything, but Dick still smiles at little kid things like pretty Capitol fashions and managing to herringbone braid his hair. It twists something in Roy to seen all that slipping away.

 

Roy can't look Dick in the face anymore, because Roy is protected and Dick is not and the shame of that cripples him. He doesn't want to look into sweet little Richard Grayson's face and see himself reflected there. The world breaks everyone but Roy can't bear to watch what it will do to Dick Grayson.

 

Dick understands, or he pretends to. He won't let go of Roy though. He can't. He doesn't have it in him to let Roy go and watch him self destruct from a safe distance. But, he's always going back and forth between the District and the Capitol, and one day Roy just stops coming around to see him when he gets back from a trip home.

 

Dick pretends he doesn't cry about that. Bruce lets him.

 

Roy gets sober, and falls off the wagon and gets sober again, and falls again. Dick always comes over and helps Ollie pick up the pieces. When Roy's himself again, he always sends Dick away again..

 

Dick will always leave if you ask him to, but he never promises he won't come back.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Roy in this verse is a bit of a weird mix of Young Justice Roy and Red Hood and the Outlaws Roy.
> 
> Fic mostly takes place with Dick is 16-17 and Roy is 18-19.


	4. Kory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First impressions are difficult sometimes, but sometimes second impressions are better.

Dick's not sure when he first met Kory, which is funny because she doesn't seem like the sort of person you'd forget, what with being 6 and a half feel tall (practically, okay he's exaggerating a little, but only a little), and bright orange.

 

Not to mention drop dead gorgeous and the sweetest person Dick has ever met and he has met A LOT of people.

 

The next time he saw her, he did remember that they'd met before though the details of the interaction and of her beyond a vague sense of 'tall, pretty, nice, orange' were completely beyond his ability to recall.

 

To be fair, the next time he sees her is a painfully awkward expedition undertaken with Roy and a crowd of other Victors and Victor hangers-on who they'd hung out with for a while in their teens before Dick became a bona fide sex symbol at seventeen, and Roy became a full-on drug addicted human trainwreck, and it was horrible because they were those things now and the others couldn't deal with either of them.

 

Not to mention that going to a no hold barred, mixed martial arts championship fight was probably not a great choice for a group of people with traumatic experiences related to violence.

 

He catches her eye as she's tossing an opponent around the octagon and she smiles at him with the warm open familiarity of a chance encounter with an old but well liked acquaintance.

 

Despite this it most definitely catches him by surprise when she greets him at the next party that they both attend, by kissing him full on the mouth. It's a closed-mouth kiss which is good because otherwise Damian might have sprang into action in his role as Dick's diminutive self-appointed body guard, and honestly he wasn't sure which of them would win in a fight.

 

She pulls back and beams at him. “Richard! It's so wonderful to see you again”

 

He smiles his public smile. “Koriand'r such a pleasure. I saw you win your title...last year was it? Or the year before? Honestly, I'm not sure.”

 

She peers around him intently. “Where's your little brother, I know he can't be far! I was so interested in meeting him!”

 

That gives Dick pause. People aren't usually eager to meet Damian, at least not genuinely so. Damian has more successfully alienated the Capitol than any Victor before or since. There's something in his intensity and egotism that frightens the people of the Capitol, who only like tame killers, and toothless lions.

 

Dick gestures with a hand behind his back, trying to beckon his little brother to his side. Honestly, he's not sure where Damian has hidden himself, but he's got a line of sight and a weapon at the ready.

 

Damian appears silently from the crowd and stares up wide eyed and suspicious at Koriand'r.

 

“You shouldn't just kiss people like that.” he snarls. “They might not want you to.”

 

Dick stares at Kory like a deer caught in the headlights. “He's just being difficult. Damian's particular about people touching him and he thinks everyone is like that he-” Dick scrambles to try and explain and to excuse.

 

He's not for sale anymore, but his life in the Capitol comes with certain expectations. He will go to high society events, he will mingle and flirt and be seen. He has to maintain appearances. No one can know about his old clients, and no one can know why he stopped.

 

Damian and Tim's safety depends on that, not to mention his own which hangs by a precarious thread of goodwill and intimidation. He can't take chances. Damian is a deterrent to selling him again, but he's also leverage, young, vulnerable and conveniently within reach should March's administration change their minds.

 

Koriand'r face is suddenly very sad, she glances down at Damian's cold, sad furious little face and back up a Dick who's trying to hide his panic. She's guessed what it must mean, Damian's rebuke and Dick's fumbling attempt at deflecting it, maybe in her line of work these things happen too. It's not so far from being a Victor to be a fighter, is it? And he knows she's a muttation or something, with that skin and her tremendous strength.

 

“I'm sorry Richard. I didn't mean to presume, it's just that I am tactile by nature and when we last met you seemed to be as well.” She apologizes, and there's doubt creeping into her voice. She's wondering if their last meeting, the one she clearly remembers very fondly even if Dick doesn't had been an act on his part, something forced.

 

She really is charming and sweet. Doubt doesn't suit her.

 

He smiles at her, and leans up to kiss her on the mouth.

 

“I'm taking you earlier kiss as permission.” He says with a smile.

 

Damian makes a very complicated noise of disapproval.

 

“Grayson.” he growls.

 

Dick looks back and smiles at Damina. “Something you'd like to share?”

 

Damian scowld, but stares at Koriand'r with consideration. “How far you could you throw a man of average height and weight?” he asks her contemplatively.

 

“Probably about 8 feet, maybe more depending on my momentum.” She replies brightly.

 

Damian yanks Dick down to whisper in his ear. “I give this relationship my blessing, as a woman of her talents could be helpful to us, but keep a weapon capable of incapacitating her on you at all times, particularly if I'm not present. If she harms you I will mount her head on the city walls.”

 

Dick straightens and smiles at Kory.

 

“Don't worry he likes you, he's just being his special little self.” he explains.

 

Kory beams at him. “That is wonderful. Would you like to dance?”

 

Dick glances around the room. It wasn't a dancing sort of party but he did like this song.

 

“You know what Kory? I would absolutely love to dance with you.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Takes place during the main storyline. Kory and Dick's first meeting that he doesn't remember takes place during "Red and Terrible and Red" Dick's in his very early twenties, their meeting at the party takes place between " between "All We Need of Hell" and "The Revolution will Not Be Televised", Dick is in his mid to late twenties.


	5. Jason, Kory, Roy and the Circus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In District 10, after the war, Roy, Kory and Jason come across a travelling circus.

The lights go down in the great tent. A man in a white suit and wide brimmed hat is lit suddenly by a spotlight. He is wearing a black mask, with the contours of a serene smiling face.

 

“They once said that to please the mob you needed only two things: bread and circuses. Now, the Capitol once was so certain that they'd deliver the first that they names our very country Panem, from the ancient word for bread.

 

But, the Capitol never managed to deliver the second. Because they didn't understand. In here we make our own world if only for a short time, a world of magic and wonder and joy. It doesn't matter who you are, or who you were or who you'll have to be one day.

 

Because this is the Circus, and the circus is..free!” on the word free he snatches his mask off and throws it into the air, where it is perfectly caught by a woman standing poised on the highwisre unseen until that moment. She bows to the crowd.

 

Jason can feel Kory leaning forward enraptured by the performance, Roy too seems riveted. It figures, he supposes. This, despite the facelift and the fact they're in District 10 at the moment, is clearly the old Gotham Circus, polished up and taken on the road, and Jason's seen it before, but no one outside of Gotham has ever seen anything like it.

 

The show is a strange magical dream, the white-clad figure of the ringmaster weaving in and out of the various acts, standing out against the bright colours of the other costumes. He enters standing atop a galloping horse, he is tossed down from above during one of the acrobatic demonstrations. Through it all he talks.

 

He talks about a lot of things, about the war, the years before it, about the Dark Days and the good times in the centuries before them. It's beautiful and terrifying and somehow sad.

 

Then suddenly he's gone disappeared into the gloom, and the lights come up. The show is over.

 

Kory and Roy are on their feet cheering and whistling with the rest of the crowd.

 

Jason is sitting there poleaxed because he knows who the ringmaster is.

 

 

 

Dick is wiping off his stage-makeup when Jason, Roy and Kory burst into his caravan (he had wheels put on it).

 

He looks at them in the mirror. “An ex-girlfriend, ex-best-friend and ex-brother walk into my trailer, I think there's a joke in there somewhere.”

 

He turns to look at them and can't help but notice the way Roy and Kory blanch at his face. They haven't seen his scars before.

 

“Why aren't you in Gotham?” Jason growls. “The kid needs looking after.”

 

“Why are you still in the country? You said you were leaving.”

 

“Don't change the subject.”

 

“The 'kid' is older than you were when you decided to start murdering people you disapproved of and has been practically running that town since he was 15. He's fine.” Dick snaps with mounting exasperation. Honestly, why does every one act like he's somehow betrayed Damian by leaving District 3?

 

“You can't just abandon him!” Jason counters. Roy and Kory are looking like they regret coming in at all, Dick notices, they probably thought they were just going to come by to say hello.

 

Dick whirls around to glare at the familiar featureless visor. “I don't owe you any explanations Jason.” And he spits the name out like a curse. “You have more than once proven exactly what sort of man you are. You have no right to judge me.”

 

“I did what I had to.” Jason protests.

 

Dick sneers. “Oh poor little Jason, so wounded and traumatised and angry at the world. Newsflash: you're not the only one who suffered, but you are the only one who felt your suffering gave you the right to be judge jury and executioner.”

 

He stands up and stalks towards his brother. “And let's remember it wasn't you you were avenging. It was me, and I didn't ask for it. I never asked for any of it. I did everything I could to help the people around me- the people I cared about, unlike you, I might add. And now? Now I do something for myself and you all treat me like I've betrayed some higher power. Well, you can all get the hell out of my trailer this instant because, I'm going to run this Circus and perform in front of crowds and I am going to be free, and if you don't like that, well too damn bad.”

 

Roy and Kory leave sheepishly. Dick can tell by Jason's body language that he wants to make something more of this, but knows if he stays it'll just come down to a physical fight, and Dick will win. Jason's relied on guns for too long to have a chance of taking his older brother in a fight.

 

He goes, with obvious reluctance.

 

Dick looks at himself in the mirror, his makeup half washed off, his scars standing out livid in red.

 

He sighs, and picks up the cloth to finish the job.

 

He's going to keep on going. It's what he does.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set post-"The Revolution Will Not Be Televised", Dick is in his early thirties.

**Author's Note:**

> Dick Grayson can be hard to write sometimes. There are bits of this that work and bits that don't. Sorry for the bits that don't. Hope you guys like it!


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